Leta had spent the last day and a half in terror. He had a threat looming over his head, that lion had promised to return. The one that had attacked him, hurt him, and tried to kill him. Well, he had not tried to, not really. But he certainly could have done it if he wanted to. That stranger had Leta pinned and well stuck under terrible claws and brutal strength. He could have killed Leta a number of different ways, and what made that even more terrifying was the knowledge that he had simply chosen not to. Not at that time, anyway. He was going to come back, to see if Leta would stand his guard. Be strong. What sort of an idea was that?
Hey, I’m coming back to kill you in a few days. Stick around and fight me, huh?
Leta had thought about running, but where would he go? This was his home: this was all he knew. This was his home and this was where he was raised. Where his important life was taking place, and it gave him all the things he knew and loved. How could he really abandon this place? Sure, he was scared of getting killed, but if he left and did not face this stranger… then someone in the pride might suffer the same fate, and get killed because of him. That guilt would never leave him. He had no choice but to stay, and to face this lion, this Ulfric the Viking, though he was almost certain he would die.
Ulfric padded back to this now familiar land feeling as though he knew how this would go. That little coward would not show, and he would be left to decide for himself how to react to it. He was angry already, just thinking about being stood up by Leta for a date with death. Of course, Ulfric had no real intentions of killing him, unless he was as profoundly weak as he portrayed. This remained a learning opportunity, and a lesson for Ulfric to teach this coward.
Once he was through, Leta would rethink how he treated strangers, and how he approached fights.
To the viking’s surprise, he spotted the giraffe pelted lion standing near where they had met the first time, the arranged spot for this fight. He shook his head, already impressed, though he would not say so out loud. He knew this fight was going to be quick and rather pathetic, but at least Leta had the courage and strength of character to show up and face almost certain death in the name of his pride. Ulfric came up to the other and nodded his head. It was a greeting, and a kind of respect for the lion showing up. Leta did not really understand that, swallowing hard and looking at the Viking.
“So how does this work? You kill me and take me back to your pride as a trophy?”
“Just your tail.”
“Just my… my tail? Oh… I… that is…”
Leta was not sure how to process that. This lion killed others and took their tails back to his pride as proof of his victories? That sounded horrible. And he was going to be one of those! Another addition to a collection that Leta had no doubt was already quite extensive. He did not want to be another dried, shriveled, dead tail. His ears drooped and his body dropped down a bit, his tail tucking between his legs as he watched the massive Viking circle around.
“I am surprised you showed up today. I thought you would have abandoned your pride.”
His meaning was double, and Leta did not miss that. He shook his head.
“I’m not as cowardly as you think I am! I won’t let you hurt anyone here! I work for the King! I will protect him!”
And he had told Kijembe about what was going on. The Assassin had to be around here somewhere, watching and waiting. He was not going to go into this fight blind: he was prepared. As prepared as he could be, anyway. Ulfric was not an idiot, and assumed that Leta had taken some precautions, though he was not sure exactly what. He did not think Leta had any sort of powerful friends, despite his boasting about being valuable to the King. Ulfric shook his head, growling lowly.
“I suppose you have proven my assumptions wrong. But are you ready to fight me? You are scared, I can see it in your body, smell it in the air. You know what is ahead of you. You cannot defeat me, and you have no hope to. Will you die here, for your pride? For almost nothing, when all is said and done. I am a wandering stranger, and I could just as easily leave once you are dead as I could go and find more to kill. What do you hope to accomplish, returning here, now?”
“I’m just doing what you said. I don’t want you to hurt anyone else. I don’t want to fight you, either. I don’t know why you’re here, at all. But… but if it comes down to it, I’ll put down my life to defend this place because, really, it’s all I have anyway. I love my life because I live here, and I know these other lions. That’s what’s important. Not me.”
“Brave words. You might make a Viking after all. I have no intention of killing you, though I did want to fight you. I want to see you, your real strength, but perhaps it is still too soon. Your concern for your fellows, for your home, is admirable, even if your demeanor is not. You could be a warrior yet. I think I will leave you be for now, but in time, I will return again and we will have that battle. In that time, you would do well to become more serious, to train yourself to rightfully defend the place you care so much for. Should a true enemy appear, you must be ready to defend yourself.”
Leta stared, listening, and nodding his head dumbly. He had no idea what just happened, but Ulfric turned and started walking away, into the pride, perhaps to look around a bit more. Leta could only sit there and try to figure out what it all meant. He was alive, at least, and he was thankful for that. Was this guy some sort of wandering warrior teacher or something?
Word Count: 1,088 in Word
